Jean paces the room in front of Sir William Kingston, who is sat behind his desk, a quill in hand. Louis stands to one side.
‘Do you know what I think?’ Jean says.
Kingston looks at him silently.
‘Those knaves dreamed up those charges. It’s easy for them to bring false accusations, afraid of their family reputations. I know, I’ve been there before.’ He leans on the desk. ‘Can you help? A word from you could save my nephew.’
Kingston puts down the quill beside the parchment he was writing on and leans back in his chair, making it creak. ‘I’m only a simple public servant.’
‘That’s not what I hear. They say you have the ear of the King.’
‘They indeed do. The truth of the matter is I’m from a simple Gloucestershire family, he is the King of a whole country. How can I influence such as he?’
‘You do have some influence. The King trusts you.’
They regard each other in silence a moment, Kingston wanting to change the subject about the King. He clears his throat and continues. ‘Not to put too fine a point on the matter, I consider we are all replaceable. The lad’s fate is sealed unfortunately.’
Louis steps forward. ‘What about Lady Roselyn, would her evidence help? She was not at the trial.’
‘I noticed so.’
‘To save family face,’ Jean snarls.
‘She is the prime witness,’ Louis continues. ‘She was with Raoul the whole time. Surely her testament can be brought forward for an appeal.’
Kingston ploughs his fingers through his hair. ‘I don’t think there is a chance of appeal.’
Jean speaks respectfully but firmly. ‘The reach of a sword can be significantly sharper than any document. We never know what twists fate has in store for us. As you say, we are all replaceable, even public servants. It depends how you are replaced and for what reason. Think of the recent executions would you. If you can help, I give you my word, one day I will help you if you need it.’
There is a long silence while Kingston drums his fingers on the table, pondering Jeans words. ‘You could ask her I suppose. I will make some enquiries.’
***
Jean is sat before his fire when he hears a gentle knock on his door. Getting to his feet he opens the door, which gives a slight squeak from rusty hinges. A figure is stood in the dark passage. He looks closer and recognises Roselyn, standing there is a dark dress. Her manner is modest, seeming to be unsure of herself. ‘Master Jean, Sir William says you wish to speak to me. I have given Cassandra the slip but I don’t have much time.’
Jean lets her in and leads her over to the two curule chairs by the fireplace, pointing to one for her to sit.
‘I’m ashamed. I owe you an apology. It was all my fault.’ She sighs, continuing, her eyes downcast. ‘I was forbidden to attend the trial to save my family reputation. I am to be sent away to a convent near York for a time. To marry Nigel on my return, if he lives.’ She looks up at him. ‘It’s not a marriage but a sentence. I thought marriage was about romance. I can’t bare the idea of being Nigel’s toy, to have children by and never to have lived. I did not dare imagine my father and Nigel’s would negotiate over me.’
Jean sits on his chair, hands placed on his knees, studying Roselyn. ‘Marriage of noble families is always about other concerns. That’s their curse. I knew Nigel’s father, I had dealings with him twenty something years ago.’
She looks at the older man thoughtfully. ‘It sounds like there is more to it than that.’
‘Yes, there was,’ his voice holds a bitter tone. ‘We were rivals for the same lady. We fought a duel which he won. I was an officer at the French Court then. He was on diplomatic duty.’
‘Was the lady French?’ she softly asks.
‘No.’ Sadness flickers in his eyes as he looks at her. ‘It was Bronwen, Nigel’s mother!’
Roselyn looks at Jean, eyebrows raised in surprise. ‘Go on,’ she says breathlessly.
A log in the fire collapses with a shower of sparks, illuminating the two seated figures.
Jean stares into the fire with a faraway look. ‘She had been studying at the queen’s court. Howard won the duel and later she married him,’ he shrugs, returning his gaze to Roselyn. ‘I feel it is much the same situation as you are in now. An arranged marriage.’
She nods her head and mutters, ‘our marriages are not civilised arrangements of love, rather for political promotion.’
As briefly as he can, he gives Roselyn a summary of his past, his voice full of sorrow, remaining discreet where Bronwen is concerned. Roselyn listens politely, nodding now and then.
‘Both being new at court we had something in common. As we were both alone, our friendship developed and grew quickly and very soon, we were spending every free moment together.’
‘How did Howard come between you?’
A bit later he arrived as an aid to the English Ambassador. He fell for Bronwen’s charms, pestering her constantly with attention she did not seek.’
‘You intervened?’
‘Most certainly. We duelled one morning and he won. A junior officer duelling with one on diplomatic duties was severely frowned upon. His family had influence, so, I lost my commission. Bronwen was sent back to England and forced to marry Howard.’
‘You lost position and love,’ there is sympathy in her voice. ‘Is that why you became an executioner.’
‘I was bitter. I became a mercenary and a sword for hire. Over the years I worked in France, Spain, the German States, the Italian States, anywhere I could put my sword to use. I began to teach aristocrats, their sons and their bodyguards. As my fame grew, nobles and clergy began to hand me a good purse to execute opponents or heretics. Finally, my brother Louise had some contacts in Calais so I returned. That’s where a young Raoul joined me.’
They look at each other, Roselyn aware of his past hardships. ‘You never found another to love?’
Jean shakes his head. ‘I lived with cruelty so many years. Not so much mine, but acting upon the cruelty of others. The evil I have done cannot be undone. God’s wrath will bring me hell’s worst torments. Where could love find a home?’
Roselyn looks around the room. She notices Raoul’s lute lying on his cot. She goes over to pick it up. ‘Can Raoul be saved?’
‘We will do what we can.’
‘He cares for you very much.’
‘Yes, he’s like the son I never had. I was there when he was born. He’s loyal and dependable. I taught him sword skills as you know, thinking he would take over my work, but he hasn’t got it in him.’ He laughs pleasantly, ‘He prefers making songs for maidens. He’s better at sharpening my sword than using it to take a life.’
Aware of his happier tone, she remarks, ‘I always get the feeling Bronwen’s marriage is not a happy one.’
‘It was all about family station.’
‘I don’t want my life to be like that, I would hate it.’ She replaces the lute. ‘Shall I speak to Bronwen, see if anything can be done for Raoul. Perhaps she could speak to Howard.’
‘If she could help, yes.’
‘Do you think she would like to see you after all this time?’
‘That would be a fine thing.’ Jean smiles awkwardly.
‘I’ll see what I can do.’ She stands, brushing her skirts.
‘That is very kind of you.’ He thanks her, giving her a warm look of gratitude.
When he lets her out, Jean cuts up an apple from the table, slicing up one half to put on the window sill while thoughtfully eating the other. He thinks over how different his life could have been. He casts his mind back, remembering the time he was recommended to be an officer in the Royal Household of Queen Claude. And best of all, meeting Bronwen. Her dark hair and eyes and slender figure captivated Jean. She did not miss her homeland due to his friendship and constant presence as they spent every free moment, almost a year of pleasure and joy together. Their mutual attraction bringing a deeper love.
But what could have been a happy, prosperous marriage and promising career at court for Jean was all too soon cut short. All because of a pale, copper haired aid to the English Ambassador. They clashed on a cold, grey, miserable morning. Breakfast had brought a feeling of weakness, of dizziness. His sword seemed unusually heavy and it was all Jean could do to defend himself. A brief clash of the bare blades, a cry of pain caused by the deep wound inflicted in his side by Howard, then Jean was lying there, on the wet grass, the duel was over and he was defeated.
As the event had become public knowledge and duelling of a junior officer with one on diplomatic duties meant Jean lost his commission. However, the anger and injustice he felt could not match in any way the loss of his Bronwen.